


Hands

by Hajimeru



Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Andrew POV (ish) on hands, M/M, vague descriptions of mentioned rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 19:36:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7545331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hajimeru/pseuds/Hajimeru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hands touch, touch feels, and Andrew hates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands

**Author's Note:**

> i have no idea if this is gonna make sense but it's just an idea i've been thinking of concerning Andrew. Also formatting might be kinda unorthodox lol but i couldn't find a way i wanted to write this, asides from the way it currently is.

**Part I:**

Hands pinning him down by the shoulders,

Hands gripping his arms,

Hands spreading his legs,

Hands clasping onto his ankles,

Hands hooking under his knees,

Hands snaking up and down his chest,

Hands groping his ass,

Hands cupping his balls,

Hands squeezing his penis,

Hands covering his mouth,

Hands muffling cries to whimpers- 

and yet, strangely enough,

 _‘Please’_  always slips past these Hands.

Hands holding his chin,

Hands turning his face to meet lusty eyes,

Hands brushing his ears as sweet fake words are whispered to him,

Hands pulling his hair

softly, harshly,

calmly, desperately.

There is no pattern to the manner these Hands move with.  

The Hands are sporadic, reflective of Drake's mood.

 

Hands,

that is the pattern. 

Hands,

that is the problem.

Touch,

he hates. 

Hands,

he wishes he couldn’t feel anymore. 

Apathy,

it’s become a result of this pattern. 

 

Hands touch, 

touch feels,

and Andrew hates.

Damn it all.

Apathy,

come and salvage this mess he’s become.

 

* * *

 

 

 **Part II** : 

Hands touch,

Hands break, 

Hands wreak havoc. 

 

Hands stain his twin with bruises,

Hands feed his twin with pills,

Hands will be the death of his twin.

Andrew does not care whether these Hands belong to his biological mother or not.

Her Hands do not care.

Why should his Hands care?

 

Hands that do not care,

why are there so many Hands like that in the world? 

Hands pillage according to its desires.

Selfish Hands forgo 

right and wrong, 

good and bad-

it’s all a blur in this world. 

This Hand, that Hand-

too many damn Hands

doing too many damn things,

justifying with all sorts of reasons. 

 

Forget the normative reasoning.

His Hands take the wheel. 

His Hands control, 

destroy and save.

A life for a life,

Tilda for Aaron.

 

Hands break, 

Hands wreak havoc.

Hands do it all for many reasons. 

 

Hands beat his cousin-

 _You damn faggot_ , Hands scream.

Hands jerk the crumpled Nicky up by the collar.

These Hands pull back to swing full force again, 

but the Hands are stopped by Andrew’s Hands.

 

His Hands are calloused, 

worn and exhausted,

aged from life. 

 

These Hands defend, 

and protect. 

They reciprocate each punch. 

 

These Hands are frightening, 

intense, 

and full of desire to rectify. 

 

His Hands nearly steal the lives of the beating Hands.

 

“Andrew, stop! The cops are coming, stop! Please! You’ll kill them.” 

 

Hands do not care for the word _Please_. 

Hands do not care for all people. 

Ideal Hands like that do not exist.

 

“Stop, Andrew! The cops are here!” 

 

Hands hit,

Hands break, 

Hands come and stop his Hands from killing.

Hands cuff his Hands,

and off he goes

down the world’s drain to the place 

where the seemingly worst offending Hands go.

  

* * *

 

 

**Part III:**

Hands, Hands, Hands-

it’s always been Hands. 

All he knows is Hands. 

 

He knows Kevin only knows Hands as well.

Kevin only knows Hands because Kevin only knows Exy.

No Hands, no holding racquets.  

What good are Feet? 

 

Kevin now knows Feet because violent Hands broke his Hand.

When Hands don’t work, resort to Feet. 

Kevin flees from a nest of angry Hands, and seeks refuge in a den of Foxes. 

Kevin’s Hands particularly search for Andrew’s Hands. 

 

 _Protect me,_ Kevin’s Hands ask. 

 

Andrew's Hands do not give in so easily. 

His Hands have broken before, 

His Hands have been covered with blood before,

but

His Hands do not protect all people. 

Hands are not to be used whenever for whatever.

Not his Hands. 

Hands touch,

Hands feel,

Too much of Hands is a problem.

Andrew doesn’t want Hands. 

He’s fine living without touching,

without feeling. 

 

Kevin’s Hands are shaky and hesitant, 

very much unlike his former confident ones, 

but Kevin’s Hands speak of a promise.

Something that’ll spark a light in Andrew’s dead heart,

something that will keep Andrew's Hands busy and sated in this boring life.  

 

Andrew’s hands betray him.

His Hands reach for a light that has yet to even appear. 

Why must Hands always crave touch, to hold something of their own?

Why does he still feel, still want?

 

* * *

 

**Part IV:**

He’s found a person who does not know Hands. 

This person only knows Feet. 

This person constantly relies on Feet. 

What makes a person stick to Feet?

What makes a person prefer Hands?

 

One bag, 

one precious bag spills some of this person's secret. 

One look in the bag sends this person running to shout and fight, 

angry that others have peeked inside,

scared that Hands have stolen from him. 

 

How much worth is one bag?

For a runner like Neil,

it’s worth a lot. 

Andrew’s certain of that. 

His Hands have touched that bag, 

felt the clothes Neil wears, 

held the binder of mysteries. 

 

If he could only understand why he left the bag feeling more than he ought to feel. 

Curiosity: who was this Neil Josten? What was this Neil running from?

Concerned: Neil’s Hands better not steal from his Hands; Neil’s Hands better not wreak havoc; Neil’s Hands better not pry and dig around or else, Andrew’s Hands would retaliate. 

This didn’t mean Andrew’s Hands couldn’t dig around. 

His Hands had a deal to uphold,

his Hands- much to his dismay- were still looking for the promised spark of light and Neil proved to be a hurdle in his way. 

 

Neil and Andrew stand in Wymack’s room. 

Andrew processes their conversation.

(Did you kill yours?) Andrew’s Hands took care of Tilda and the car. 

 _(Riko’s family did.)_ Andrew’s not surprised. Hands steal plenty of things from others. 

(Then why did you come here?) That’s the question he wants to know. Why come to death’s door with your head on a silver platter and your Hands tied?

 

_(Tired. Nowhere else to go. Kevin knows what it’s like to hate everyday of his life, to wake up afraid every day, but he’s got you at his back telling him everything’s going to be okay. He has everything, even when he’s lost everything, and I’m nothing.)_

 

Neil’s Hands dig into the sick smile on his face, hoping to rip the cruel smile off, and Andrew’s reminded of the scars on his arms- scars born from repeated scratching and cutting, failed attempts to erase the roaming, ghostly Hands of Drake. An eternal reminder of his attempt to stay at Cass's home.  

 

Andrew’s Hands reach out to pull Neil’s Hands away. He takes in Neil Josten and that bare, jagged smile.

 

Hands can shun

or 

Hands can help. 

 

Andrew knows what it’s like to have Hands chasing after you, Hands coming from the shadows, Hands choking the life out of you, making you wish you were numb, making you wish you were born unable to feel. Andrew knows what it’s like to not have Hands on his side, to feel the scary and frustrating weight of so many Hands against you. He also knows people need to prove themselves worthy of his protection.

 

Helping Hands take just as Stealing Hands take. 

 

Nothing comes free. If Neil needs a Helping Hand, he’ll just have to bend to the methods of Andrew’s Hands.

 

* * *

 

 

 **Part V:**

Hands pin him down on the bed.

Hands fight against him as he struggles:

Andrew’s Hands slams against Drake’s face,

Drake’s Hands hammer Andrew’s chest with punches.

Hands smash Andrew’s head with a glass bottle.

 

Andrew’s Hands sink into Drake’s skin and claws its nails all over.

Drake’s Hands roll Andrew onto his stomach, pressing Andrew's face into the pillow.

Drake’s Hands tug Andrew’s pants down.

He unzips his own pants.

Andrew’s scars burn and throb, twist and writhe with life.

Drake’s ghostly hands have returned from the dead.

Hands touch,

Touch feels,

And Andrew hates.

He hates this crippling fear, this intense disgust in his stomach, and this anger because Drake is once again overpowering him.

Fuck that oh-so-holy Luther.

Fuck _Misunderstandings._

Fuck _Brotherly affections._

Damn that alcohol bottle for disorienting his senses.

Die Drake, Die Drake. Burn alive before you die, Drake. 

Damn it all.

 

Andrew wonders: Why does he now feel when he stopped feeling a long time ago? 

Pillaging Hands have come for him again.

A scream for help threatens to erupt from his mouth but he chokes for air when Drake’s Hands grip his neck and Drake hisses with enjoyment: _Shut up, AJ. You want Aaron to join us? Oh and mom sends you her greetings._

 

Andrew kicks his feet and swats a Hand behind to hopefully smack Drake.

Drake catches his Hand and kisses the scar on the inner wrist of Andrew’s Hand.

Andrew stills, all life is sucked from that one disgusting kiss to his wrist.

No one can save him.

No Hands can salvage this mess.

 

The door breaks.

Neil, that fucking runner who only knows Feet, who can’t even win most of the fights he picks, charges in with Aaron hot on his heels.

Have Helping Hands showed up?

A tiny, tiny grinning sentiment ignites within the disoriented Andrew. Maybe these Hands will take Drake away before Drake can touch Aaron. Maybe these Hands could buy Andrew some time to get up and slaughter Drake with his own Hands.

With a striking, splintering sound and a sloshing wet crunch, more blood is added to the bloodshed. Drake tumbles over the edge of the bed, dropping to the floor with a thump. Andrew feels a weight dipping on the bed and his Hands remain clenching the headboard. He feels, he _feels._ He fucking feels everything: the pain, the anger, the fear, and the sad fact that he wasn’t the one to kill Drake; instead Aaron got to kill Drake. Was this what he got for killing Aaron’s abuser? Oh life was truly a bitch.

Andrew’s alive and burning and laughing his aching lungs into the pillow. His body quakes and all he can think is that he’s never felt so alive, never felt so many raw emotions at once. _I am still truly capable of feeling_. A pity. What a fucking pity.

He feels the bed sheet being draped over his semi-naked body. Neil’s voice comes through all of this madness. “Andrew. Andrew, are you-”

Silence creeps upon them and Andrew laughs until he can gather his fucked up senses again. When he does, he sits upright with an outrageous grin. Fuck the pain. Fuck feeling. The sight of blood on Aaron’s clothes makes him angry and Aaron clambers over, distressed and confused and frightened about what’s transpired, but that’s not important. Andrew only needs to see that his twin is safe and sound.

His Hands press against Aaron’s bloody shirt. His Hands knows of the injury on his own temple and he touches Aaron’s temple to check for the same injury. None.

Touching doesn’t do anything to relieve Andrew of the tight and suffocating feelings in his chest. Luther brought danger to the ones he was protecting.

Hands touch, touch feels, and Andrew hates.

Drake’s dead. Luther’s horrified. Nicky’s frantic, Aaron’s startled, Kevin’s as pale as the white wall behind him, and Neil catches Andrew’s swaying form with his own Hands.

Hands touch, touch feels, and Andrew hates the way Neil looks at him like he’d kill Drake for him. Moreover, he hates the way Neil notices the scars later on and the fact that Neil’s starting to catch on about Cass and Drake.

Piece by piece, Neil figures Andrew out just as Andrew solves Neil truth by truth. Though, sometimes, it feels like Neil’s putting the picture together much quicker. Andrew feels a laugh bubble up in his chest. That’s because Neil pretty much sent him into a trap and things escalated. Andrew supposes he’d need to see something similar happen for Neil if he wanted a large leap access to Neil’s background.

Of course, that’s if his Hands could carry the weight of a dead Neil. And oh how Kevin would bitch and panic. Andrew would be stuck with a failed promise and he always sought his promises to the end. So the answer was clear: stick to the truth-for-truth method. There wasn’t any need to hurry the process. Life was always ticking. The Hands of Death didn’t discriminate since it took all.


End file.
